


Overexposure

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a companion of sorts to the infamous Soft Focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overexposure

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

The “snick” of the door closing behind him nearly made Billy jump from his skin—but he pressed on.

Blindly, he scrabbled for the string for the light switch and with a jerk, the bathroom was illuminated in a sickly yellow glow.

He stared at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes flowered like bruises and his cheeks were still red—probably from the Scotch he’d bring drinking. He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes.

He looked like shite.

It served him right.

He swallowed, stifling a cough—couldn’t cough Billy-boy ‘cos she’d wake up and come asking questions, wondering about things.

He shot a look at the door—just in case.

Then he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

He had a box, stashed deep under the sink, and he needed it.

Now.

As he dug past the clutter, past her shite and his, his knuckles connected soundly with the rusted wet pipe under the sink, and he had to taste blood in his mouth from biting too hard, to stop himself from cursing aloud.

Fuck that hurt.

His fingers connected with the sharp corner of the box.

He snatched it out.

On the way out, the box knocked down her astringent and face cream, his razor stand, and deodorant, but he didn’t bother to clean it up.

If he had his way he’d never have to hide this thing again—he’d never see it again.

He placed the box on the counter and paused.

He would just throw it out now.

He rested his hands on his hips.

Any minute now.

He’d just look one more time.

Couldn’t hurt.

He fumbled at the latch, cursing his shaking fingers, and the lid flipped back, revealing the plain plastic bottom and the small bag inside.

He ran his fingers across the nylon, and looked up into the mirror again.

His mind flittered across the image of Dominic, dark and brooding in the corner of the club, his eyes lined in kohl, and his face not half as expressive as his eyes.

The man always got him with his eyes.

Before he could ask why, his fingers were tearing at the drawstring, and then bouncing the solid weight against his sweaty palm.

Everything was still in order.

He looked back at his sallow face in the mirror.

He wouldn’t use it.

He didn’t need it.

He frowned as his cock twitched.

He shouldn’t need it, not really, not when he’d just been so sweetly serviced by his girl, his…l-love.

He sat on the toilet seat.

He hadn’t let go.

She was wonderful, and whatever twisted desire was curling in his belly now, wasn’t there earlier when he’d buried his face in the v of her legs, and tasted her spicy essence.

He loved her.

He loved women.

Really.

He swallowed again.

He loved her, but if he was strictly speaking, he wasn’t exactly thinking of her while he had her—his mind wandered, and for half a second her gentle mewls twisted into a throaty sigh, and “Fuck yes, Billy please!”

The effect was so fierce his toes curled.

His abdomen throbbed.

He really should see someone—he was a fucked up individual.

He stood up, and lifted the lid to toilet.

He had to piss.

Problem was, once he was done, and flushing the toilet, a burning ache radiated between his thighs, and his cock was harder than ever.

He wanted.

He wanted Dom.

He looked into the mirror.

“Want you,” he whispered.

Dom nodded, standing just a finger’s reach behind him, but Billy knew if he turned around and reached out, he wouldn’t be able to grab him.

“Do it.” Dom urged gently, but without room for argument. “Please.”

Billy stared into his reflection in the mirror, even as his hands moved, swiping across the head of his cock, and then reaching behind him, slick with his own arousal, and pressed roughly into his entrance.

He didn’t bother to quiet his hiss.

“Yes.” Dominic breathed, and the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck rose.

He lifted his leg eyes still locked on Dominic’s and pressed the toy solidly into him.

He bit his lip.

God he wanted to moan.

“Billy,” Dom whimpered, his face squished up as if he was torn between pain and erupting into flames.

Billy snapped his wrist, staring dark and hungrily into the mirror, wanting, wishing his hand was Dom’s.

“Touch me,” Billy whispered.

“Touch yourself.” Dom countered and Billy obliged, peeling his hand from the edge of the counter, and wrapping a clammy palm around his aching cock.

“Can’t stay long,” Billy warned, closing his eyes against the wet noises coming from behind and the front of him.

“I know, harder Billy.” Dom urged.

Billy picked up the pace, running his nail over the head of his cock, just as he connected solidly with his prostate.

His knees all but buckled underneath him, as fire coiled in his lower back.

He whimpered.

“So close Bill, so, so close…” Dom breathed, and Billy could imagine the man moving, he was touching himself.

“Come for me, Dom.” He choked, even as his prostate was jolted again, and warm liquid rose up his cock, and out.

He hiccupped and snatched a slippery hand over his mouth, bucking his hips as he rode out the waves.

When he opened his eyes and stared into the mirror, all he saw was his own sickly yellow face in the mirror.

He shivered.

He really needed to see someone, he reasoned, as he swiped a damp cloth across his belly.

The box was snapped shut, and tucked neatly in the back of the cabinet though he was too weak to ask why.

He gave himself one last look in the mirror, as he snatched at the light switch his body numb, and a rock in his throat.

Darkness blanketed him as he staggered into bed, and as he balled up on his side, he held his breath.

He was afraid of the dark as a lad. Yet now, bathed in dark, he rather preferred it that way.

He pulled a pillow over his head, to drown out the noise of her soft breathing, which was like ocean pounding in his ears.


End file.
